


an exciting night at the waffle house

by hellsteeth



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, REAL orgasms, Vaginal Fingering, When Harry met Sally references, fake orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellsteeth/pseuds/hellsteeth
Summary: (inspired by the “I’ll have what she’s having” scene from “When Harry Met Sally”)Scully shrugs, unconvinced. “You know, many women have faked an orgasm. Given the female body’s average response to genital stimulation, it would be easy to simulate the increased breath rate-”“Okay okay, thank you Dr. Scully.” Mulder says dismissively. She glowers at him. “I have a background in psychology and behavioral science. I think I’d be able to tell if a woman...you know, faked it. With me.”
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 11
Kudos: 137





	an exciting night at the waffle house

**A Waffle House, Somewhere in the American heartland  
**

**3:07 am**

The door to the Waffle House squeaks on its hinges as Mulder and Scully walk through it. The employee behind the register tells them to take a seat anywhere, so they choose a clean-looking booth on the far side of the room. Most of the seats are open, with a few people scattered around, hunched over meals or sipping coffee at the counter. A group of college students, clearly drunk, are eating and laughing amongst themselves in the corner.

Scully picks up the laminated menu and scans the offerings, her mouth watering at the descriptions of waffles and hash browns. On any other occasion, she would be tempted to order something healthier (although there isn’t much here that would satisfy such a requirement), but she’s been dead on her feet for the past 18 hours and a chocolate chip waffle seems like a good start to regaining some energy.

Across from her, Mulder yawns while reading his own menu, a giveaway that they’ve both been working for far too long with far too little sleep. She wonders how long they can keep driving before they are forced to pull over and rest or use the Bureau card on a motel. Maybe they can sleep in shifts, she considers silently. Hopefully, they’ll make it back to DC by tomorrow afternoon.

“Hey y’all, what can I get started for you? Anything to drink?” The waitress says, walking over to their booth and pulling out a pad and pen.

Mulder nods. “A coffee, please.” He glances at Scully. “Actually, make that two.” He holds up two of his fingers and the waitress nods, walking behind the counter to fill mugs for them.

When they receive their cups of coffee, Scully thanks the waitress and starts drinking hers as quickly as the high temperature of the drink will allow her. She looks out the window, contemplating the dark and seemingly endless expanse of farmland that she and Mulder have been driving through all night. In this landscape, it feels like they never move forward, no matter how long they drive for. The luminescent tiled sign of the Waffle House had been the only landmark for hundreds of miles that had served as any indication of their progress. The one-room restaurant had been a welcome oasis. Any port in a storm, as her father would say.

Just like their trip home, _a stunning lack of progress_ could be used to describe the case they’d been working on over the last five days, at least until the last 48 hours. They had been called out to Nebraska on a case concerning extortion with a supernatural lean. A man had been threatening his coworkers, male and female alike, with exposure of intimate details of their sex lives. The information he possessed should have been impossible to know unless he was present at the time of certain events, but he had been accurate in all of his threats nonetheless. Mulder, predictably, had oscillated between two theories. Either the suspect had possessed the victims’ sexual partners during the act or had projected spectrally right into their bedrooms to watch them. Scully, the perennial fan of Occam’s Razor, had posited that the suspect had either used surveillance equipment on his victims or had conspired with the sexual partners of the victims under the pretense of splitting the financial gain of extortion. No surveillance equipment had even been found. But then, Mulder’s theories hadn’t exactly turned up any concrete evidence, either. The week had ended somewhat anticlimactically with a confession of clandestine surveillance from the tight-lipped suspect, who seemed to know more about the pair of FBI agents than he should have.

All in all, although the official report had yet to be written about it, the case was closed. Still, the week had involved many discussions of sexual acts that Scully had kept entirely medical and professional despite an occasional innuendo from Mulder. They’d both still had the case on their mind on the way home and had begun discussing it from a more personal angle, the late hour loosening their tongues.

They’re trading stories from their college years when their food arrives. Scully had just finished telling Mulder about the time a med school hookup had turned into an unexpected medical examination. Now, Mulder is claiming that his reputation at Oxford had been significantly more impressive than Scully is willing to let slide unchallenged.

“Look, Scully, all I’m saying is that I never had any complaints from women when I was at university.”

“No, probably because you were too busy chasing aliens to hang around in bed after.” She shoots back.

Mulder laughs and shakes his head. “Not true! I just know that they have a good time, that’s all.”

Scully raises her Skeptical Eyebrow. “Oh? How do you _know_?”

He smirks at her. “I think you know how I know.”

She pretends to think about it for a moment, eyes scanning around indiscriminately. “Oh, because they orgasmed?” She asks openly, cocking her head to the side.

Mulder is startled by her frankness but nods. “Yes, exactly.”

Scully shrugs, unconvinced. “You know, many women have faked an orgasm. Given the female body’s average response to genital stimulation, it would be easy to simulate the increased breath rate-”

“Okay okay, thank you Dr. Scully.” Mulder says dismissively. She glowers at him. “I have a background in psychology and behavioral science. I think I’d be able to tell if a woman...you know, faked it. With me.” 

Despite the way he looks slightly embarrassed at the topic of conversation, there is an edge of condescension to Mulder’s words that annoys Scully to her core. When she doesn’t respond to his self-assessment, he goes back to his waffle, focusing on cutting it into bite-sized pieces and shoveling them into his mouth.

Scully watches him for a moment before the idea hits her. She glances around the small restaurant out of the corner of her eye, checking that they really are amongst total strangers. It would be just her luck for her mother or boss to wander into a random Waffle House in Indiana to witness her act out the idea that’s just occurred to her.

She puts down her fork, and sits back against the booth. Mulder is still focusing on his food. Scully draws in a small breath and lets it out, her face taking on a concentrated look.

“Oh…” she says quietly, breathing in deeply again. Mulder looks up, holding a forkful of syrup-covered waffle inches from his open mouth. He sets the food down and watches her. 

“Are you alright, Scully?” he asks, sounding slightly worried. He glances down at her meal, as if it’s attacking her from the inside.

Scully pays him no mind, working herself up into her performance. “Oh god…” she drags the words out, bringing a hand up to the side of her face, then plays with her hair, bunching her fingers up in a handful of it. She lets out a quiet moan and Mulder’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

Closing her eyes, Scully drags her hand down the side of her face and neck and then back up into her hair. “Oh my god,” she moans again, louder this time. Her back arches, hand traveling down over her chest and then to the table, gripping the edge of it.

“Yes, right there,” she says to nobody in particular. “Oh god, don’t stop,” Scully’s mouth hangs open a little and she opens her eyes, taking in the transfixed Mulder across the table. Her breathing increases in pace, her moans becoming longer and louder as well. She’s nearly shouting, and somewhere in her brain she registers that the other conversations in the restaurant have stopped.

Suddenly, Scully throws her head back, gasping loudly. “Oh, yes! Mulder! Yes!” she shouts, banging her fists on the table, making the silverware and plates clatter. She moans, her voice sharp and high-pitched as she continues to lurch suggestively in her seat and slam her hands down in front of her. Slowly, her dramatic moans quiet and her breathing slows. Within moments, she has resumed normal activity, as if her outburst had never happened. She’s careful to keep her expression steady as she picks up her fork and takes a bite of her hash browns. Mulder is silent, gaping at her. She can hear some of the college students across the room clapping and whooping appreciatively.

Scully raises a curious, and self-satisfied, eyebrow at Mulder. He’s still staring at her mutely, food forgotten. Scully resumes eating casually, as if she hadn’t just faked an orgasm in public, in front of her partner.

“Wow,” Mulder says quietly. “Maybe I’ll have what you’re having next time.”

She responds with a friendly smile.

\--

They return to their rental car, re-fueled and ready for the drive. Mulder volunteers to take the first turn, and Scully lets him, since the seat and mirrors are already adjusted to his height.

She’s shocked at herself, not only for the performance she put on in the restaurant, but for her total lack of embarrassment over it. It’s most likely a side effect of exhaustion, but Scully has no regrets over faking an orgasm in front of Mulder to prove a point to him. Hearing his cocky, self-assured claims of sexual prowess, while erotic in a way that she would never admit to herself, had ignited a righteous indignation in her on behalf of all women.

(Still, the part of her brain that she can’t quite silence isn’t so sure that Mulder has ever experienced a woman fake an orgasm for his benefit before tonight. Wishful thinking.)

Although they had resumed conversation after her performance, Mulder is quiet as he drives. He bounces his knees, then reaches into the cup holder for a sunflower seed out of habit even though they hadn’t picked any up before they’d left town.

“Are you alright, Mulder?” Scully asks, pulling her arms out of her overcoat and drawing it around her shoulders like a blanket.

He’s silent for another moment before he says, “You said my name.”

It’s an admission so quiet she can’t be completely sure she heard him right.

“I did what?”

“You said my name.” he replies at a slightly higher volume, eyes fixed on the road. “When you-”

“Faked an orgasm,”

“Yes,”

“And I said your name?” she’s digging through her memories of the event. There had been too much to focus on at once: the pitch of her voice, the speed of her panting, the perfect moment to “climax”...she only vaguely remembers the things she shouted at the height of it all.

“You did,” Mulder says slowly and clears his throat.

It hits Scully at once, the memory of shouting Mulder’s name at the top of her lungs while pretending to come. The embarrassment that had been absent before is now creeping up on her, manifesting in heat on her cheeks. She’s thankful for the disguise that the darkness of the car provides her.

She plays it off, shrugging. “I guess I did. All part of the act, you know. I had to make it a little personal to prove my point,” She turns her head to look at him. “Did any of that remind you of past dalliances, Mulder?” she teases, trying to lighten the subject.

He snorts. “Not really. You seemed pretty practiced at it though. Ever pull out that little routine for a man, Scully?”

She crosses her arms defensively. “No comment.”

He raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “Really? Even you?”

Scully shrugs, deciding that she’s already shown him a new side of herself tonight. Why lie now? “Not since college. I think most women do it at one point or another, though.”

Mulder laughs. “And most men probably think they’ve never once been the cause of it.” He nods and places a hand on her knee hesitantly. “Now I see where you’re coming from.”

“Finally,” Scully sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes. The presence of his large, warm hand on her knee is comforting. It grounds her, makes her feel more awake despite the late hour. At his touch, the embarrassment that had flared up in her stomach at the realization that she had said his name while faking an orgasm turns into a very different feeling that is not entirely unwelcome. She places her hand on top of his and licks her lips.

“Can I ask you something personal, Scully?”

She nods, appreciating the way he is tracing circles over the curve of her knee with his thumb. “Sure, it seems like nothing is off limits tonight.” she jokes.

Mulder glances at her. “And whose fault is that?”

She holds her hands up in mock surrender before returning her hand to where it was, on top of his. She pulls it up her thigh a few inches, closer to her. Mulder resumes the movements of his thumb on the outside of her leg and she smiles. He smiles back at her.

“I never said it was your fault. Continue.”

Mulder’s long fingers tap on the steering wheel as he ponders the phrasing of his question. “If you’re right about how so many women fake orgasms at one point or another- and I believe you- why do they do it?” He sounds genuinely curious instead of judgemental, so Scully gives his question a moment of consideration.

“I think part of the reason is that some women have trouble asking for things that they want,” she explains. Mulder nods silently, urging her to continue. “When you’re inexperienced or feel insecure, it can be hard to speak up and tell your partner that something is wrong.” She cringes slightly, thinking back to the times in her youth when she’d felt like voicing a complaint would turn her into an imposition, something undesirable. Once she’d gotten more confident, she’d swore to herself that she’d never lie to protect a man’s ego again, and she hasn’t.

As she speaks, Mulder’s hand slides farther up her thigh. His movement feels calculated and careful- his hand close to where she secretly wants it, but not so close as to make her uncomfortable if she pulls away. The feeling of his fingers dragging along her inner thigh causes heat and wetness to bloom between her legs. At this rate, he’s going to be responsible for her soaked panties. From the expression on Mulder’s face, he probably knows this. 

“Do you think you have trouble asking for things you want, Scully?” Mulder asks.

“Not anymore,” she answers and drags his hand further up until it is centimeters away from the pulsing heat between her legs.

Mulder changes the angle of his right hand, swiveling it so his fingers are pointing down toward the seat and the heel of his hand is almost flush against her clit. With his pointer finger, he strokes up from her center to her clit repeatedly, his movements slow. Scully inhales sharply as the tip of her finger connects with her clit and then moves down to rub over her folds again. She’s so wet that she’s certain he can feel it, even through her underwear and slacks. Although Mulder’s touch is feather-light, she is so sensitive that a small moan escapes her lips when he increases the pressure on her clit ever so slightly.

Mulder’s eyes remain on the road, although he bites his bottom lip and then licks it. If he weren’t driving, Scully would lean over to capture that plush bottom lip between her own teeth, salve the bite with her own tongue.

Through her haze of arousal, she looks down at Mulder’s lap, where she can just make out the border of an erection straining against his trousers in the darkness. The still-functioning analytical parts of her brain are running a cost-benefit analysis on distracting the driver of their car with her hands when Mulder starts to use two fingers instead of one. He presses his fingers against her clit and rubs in small circles and the back of her head hits the seat, thoughts of all other things forgotten.

When Mulder stops his movements suddenly, Scully looks at him and becomes aware that he is pulling over on the side of the road. Once they are parked, she leans over the center console and grabs Mulder by the back of his neck, kissing him soundly. He moans into her mouth, hands busy at her hips as he attempts to solve the puzzle that is women’s clothing. She breaks the kiss to assist him, unzipping her pants and undoing the buttons holding them closed.

Mulder leans toward her, using both arms to scoot her pants down her legs. She lifts her hips slightly to help him. Then, she reaches toward him and attempts to reciprocate the action. His hand on hers gives her pause.

“Later,” he says softly. Excitement flashes within her at the concept of _later_ and she nods in agreement. “Is this alright with you?” he asks, looking down at her nearly naked bottom half.

Scully nods. “There’s nothing I want more than for this to continue.”

Mulder smiles. “Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He kisses her again before skirting his fingers back over her folds, now only shrouded by her thin panties. Taking her quickened breathing as encouragement, his fingers dip past the fabric and slide across her entrance, tracing it without entering her completely. She bucks her hips against his hand, desperate for more contact. His palm is suddenly flat against her clit and she cries out sharply, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. She settles for the inside handle of the door.

“Tell me what you want,” Mulder says, watching her come unglued at the seams as he repeats his careful, restrained movements. “Please, Scully, I want to know how to do this right.” His voice is soft, but steady. That’s a relief. One of them has to have a handle on things, and Scully’s head is hazy with pleasure.

“More, please,” she whispers, looking at him.

“Where?” His fingers still circle her entrance, and the skin of his hand against her clit is maddeningly consistent in its pressure.

“Everywhere,” she says 

Mulder nods, inserting a finger into her and flattening the heel of his hand against her clit. The intensity of the combined movement makes her cry out and close her eyes, hot white pleasure coursing from her core to her extremities. Mulder adds a second finger, pumping them in and out experimentally. She gasps and opens her eyes and he curls his fingertips just right.

He’s looking at her in awe, like a person might look at a favorite painting. As if he’s surprised by the power of his own actions, he also looks a little stunned.

“You’re beautiful, like this,” he says quietly, bringing his soaked fingers to her clit and circling it again, tugging on it gently until she’s gasping and keening. “When you pulled that stunt in the restaurant, I never could have imagined…” He trails off as he watches her reactions to his movements, dipping his fingers back inside her and curling them again.

It’s simultaneously frustrating and exciting, the way Mulder keeps alternating between giving attention to her cunt and her clit. Just when she’s getting close, he switches again, only adding to her mounting anticipating and desperation.

“Imagined what?” she asks, legs shaking a little as he slowly runs his fingers from her entrance to her clit, teasing and stroking.

“What the real thing looks like,”

“It’s not the real thing until I come,” Scully points out brazenly, the trembling in her voice betraying her current state.

“I guess you’re right,” Mulder smirks, actually _smirks_ , and she could yell at him for dragging this out another aching minute if she wasn’t so turned on by his confidence. A feature of his that drives her mad when he’s chasing aliens and drives her even madder in a different way now that he is so close to getting her off. 

Mulder picks up the pace, 

“Come for me, Scully,” he commands quietly.

She does, for real this time. Scully moans, a much more subtle noise than she had made when faking it earlier. Her cunt pulses around Mulder’s long fingers and she finds herself whispering his name reverently. As she’s coming down from her climax, still dazed, he withdraws his fingers from her and takes her left hand, kissing it gently. Scully pulls her slacks up and fastens them, letting out a contented sigh. She pulls Mulder close to her over the cup holders and kisses him, fingers threading through his hair. After a few moments, the kiss stops but they do not pull away. Instead, he rests his forehead against hers and smiles.

“Was that fake, too?” he jokes.

She shakes her head. “That was the real deal.” she blushes a little. “Not as flashy as the fake one, but-”

“But infinitely sexier,” Mulder confirms. “Hearing you say my name like that, well, it had an effect on me.” He guides her hand to his still-present erection. Although she is still tingling from the orgasm he gave her, Scully is thrilled at the thought of hearing what Mulder sounds like in a reversed situation.

“I saw a sign for a motel at the next exit,” she says. Mulder grins. “Why don’t we get a room and _not_ catch up on our sleep?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Mulder replies, kissing her once more before pulling back onto the road.

**Author's Note:**

> tag yourself, I'm one of the drunk college students applauding Scully's "performance"
> 
> as always, comments make my day!
> 
> find me on tumblr @ midwest-cryptid


End file.
